Uniman mentioned that the Oregon widow would be going to court in some county up there, so I start out by checking their local papers on the internet, looking for any case involving a person with the name Uniman mentioned. No luck. I also start to call some of the local police stations up there, but can’t get any information that way either.
Last year I met a fellow named Jack Bibberman, whose testimony helped me get reinstated to practice law, after being framed by a crooked lawyer and suspended by the State Bar. Since then I’ve been using Jack B. wherever I can on investigations. Between working for me and doing odd jobs for Stuart, he makes an almost decent living. Jack’s been spending most of his time and money flying between here and Chicago, trying to keep a romance going with his girlfriend, a waitress he met there named Phyllis Morse, who works at the Barnum & Brisket Deli. I leave a message on his answering machine to give me a call when he gets a chance. I’m going to ask Stuart to hire Jack as his lead investigator on the Oregon insurance case that Uniman will no doubt assign to him. You never can tell, maybe I’ll meet another attractive widow with plenty of insurance money coming in soon.
Right now it looks like I’ve got another important task that requires my attention. The dog is sitting in front of me with his leash in his mouth. This is another trick he’s taught me. Whenever I see him sitting here like this, I’m supposed to hook the leash onto his collar and let him take me for a walk.
I must be one of the smart humans, because it took him just a minute or so to teach me this trick, and I figured it out the first time. He usually doesn’t come and fetch me like this unless the kid is busy on the computer either studying for another home-schooling test, or figuring out ways to appropriate money from outside work I conduct for my clients, by turning it into fees that belong to our ‘firm.’
Our deal with the Marina provides for us to get the Grand Bank’s slip rent free as a partial retainer, to be on call and handle all the landlordtenant legal work. Unfortunately the economy must be picking up, because our Marina caseload has dropped drastically, which must mean that all the apartment and boat tenants are paying their rent on time. I share my Marina fees with our little law firm, but am allowed to keep fees earned on outside client work. At least that’s the way it’s supposed to be, but for one reason or another it never works out that way, because the kid always manages to wrangle her way into every case that I work on. It’s not the sharing of the fee that bothers me as much as the fact that most of the time she’s the one who figures out how to solve the case long before I do.
A call comes in from a number that I haven’t heard from for many months: it’s the FBI’s West Los Angeles office, so it must be Special Agent Bob Snell, a guy who I’ve bumped into on several cases in the past.
“Hello Special Agent Snell, what can I do for you today?”
“Hello, Sharp, I see your caller ID is working today. And your outgoing lines are working fine too.”
“C’mon, agent Snell, you don’t have to tap my phones, I’ll be glad to come down there and make my calls from your office and let you listen in. Is there anything in particular that you want to discuss other than my telephone activity?”
“Yes. I understand you’ve been making some inquiries into an incident that took place up in Oregon. Is that correct?”
“That’s correct. Why are you so curious about it? It’s only an insurance claim I was asked to look into.”
“I’m going to do you a favor counselor. Stay away from this case. It has nothing to do with you.” End of conversation. He’s not the talkative type.
If he really wanted me to stay away from this case, he wouldn’t have called me. I’m sure he realized that if I didn’t get anywhere with my phone calls to Oregon that I’d probably drop the matter. Anyone with half a brain who knows me will tell you that the best way to get me involved in a case is to tell me to stay away from it. This conversation with Snell leaves me with only two possible conclusions. Either he doesn’t have half a brain, or for some reason he wants me to stick my nose into it. Either way, I’m intrigued. The only problem is there’s no one around to pay the tab, and I’m certainly not flying up to Oregon on spec.
I think the best thing to do on this case is sit back and let Jack Bibberman do all the preliminary legwork on Mister Uniman’s dime. There’ll be no problem getting info out of Stuart, because I’m sure that he’ll look forward to my expert opinion in analyzing any facts that Jack comes up with on the case.
In the meantime, I’ve got to start preparing a reasonable explanation for why I need another month or two for Indovine’s arraignment. From what Charles told me, he’s only been charged with a misdemeanor. My research shows that California’s law with respect to carrying a concealed weapon is called a ‘wobbler,’ which means that it can be charged as either a misdemeanor or a felony. In Charles’ case he qualified to have only misdemeanor charges filed because he met the several requirements of having legally purchased and registered the weapon, not being a gang member, and not having any prior record for carrying a gun.
This pleases me because it means that being a member of the State Bar of California, populated with thousands of crooked lawyers, is not considered being a member of a gang. I guess they use arithmetic for classification purposes. My most recent copy of the State Bar Journal lists around two hundred thousand members, so if two thousand of them get convicted of serious crimes, that’s still only two percent. On the other hand, a street gang with only fifty members might have as many as thirty to fifty percent of their membership breaking the law, so it’s classified as a true ‘gang’ for purposes of the wobbler laws pertaining to carrying concealed guns.
As interesting as this math is, I don’t think I’ll bring any of it up at Charles’ arraignment. From what I’ve seen over the years, Municipal Court judges presiding over arraignments aren’t interested in hearing constitutional arguments. All they want to hear is ‘guilty,’ ‘not guilty,’ ‘nolo contendere,’ or ‘my client would like a continuance to make a plea, your honor.’ I’ll be using the latter of these choices and hoping that my client will be given additional time due to his busy trial schedule and past financial contributions to the judge’s favorite cause.
The Olive and Vinnie wedding is back on track. Stuart calls to let me know that they’ve decided against using a pre-nuptial agreement. Due to the fact that their assets are next to nil, anything they might accumulate would be as a result of both of their efforts. They both work for Stuart and make the same amount of money. If they decide they need something in writing later on, they can always make an ante-nuptial agreement, which can say the exact same things and be signed after the marriage.
I think that’s a sensible idea. The main problem with pre-nuptial agreements is that no matter how much an attorney might know about the law, there’s usually a complete lack of knowledge as to how to go about getting one of those pesky little contracts brought up in conversation or suggested, let alone getting one signed.
No matter how gently it’s mentioned, the spouse being asked to enter into a pre-nuptial agreement always feels as if he or she isn’t being trusted, or that the person requesting the agreement thinks that the relationship is on a shaky footing. The subject is almost as touchy as when a person goes into a hospital for some minor elective surgery and the surgeon wants the patient to sign some form that provides for disposal of the body, should something go wrong in surgery.
Past experience has shown that it shouldn’t be the requesting person’s job to bring it up to his or her prospective spouse. The best scenario would be for the more asset-heavy of the two to say something like “Honey, I think that my lawyer wants to go over some things with you about my businesses before we get married, so why don’t you make an appointment to see him?”
This way the burden falls on the client’s attorney. When the fiancée comes in, the attorney can go over some of the client’s holdings, mention that there are some formalities that will make the business more secure, and then t
ry to maneuver the conversation into the subject of the prenuptial, starting out by making it appear to be only an arrangement for smooth continuity of business management, should anything drastic happen – and that’s part of the arrangements put in place by the business several years ago. This isn’t exactly what you might call a truthful approach, but sometimes you have to do what you have to do to keep your client happy and not break up a relationship.
Once the subject has been broached, the next step is to pull out a standard form prenuptial and make it appear like “I didn’t draw this thing up, it’s just the regular form that everyone uses.”
If the prospective spouse has any level of maturity, it shouldn’t be too difficult for the suggestion to be understood with no animosity. The presentation should be sort of like when a professional killer has to execute a ‘contract’ on someone he knows, and says “nothin’ personal, this is just business.” In similar past situations like this, I’ve known attorneys to say something like “Your future spouse doesn’t know that I’m getting into this area of the business, but since you are going to be married, I’m sure it’s okay for me to divulge some information.” This gives the prospective spouse a feeling of being included into the inside private business aspects of his or her fiancée, and they rarely balk at this approach.
The bottom line is that you never bring up the subject of a pre-nup in a public place like a restaurant or anywhere else where other people might be around, like friends or family. This is a personal matter and if your client would rather handle it without getting a lawyer involved, a suggested approach might be something like “I hate to get into this crummy business stuff, but my family’s lawyer wants us to have an agreement signed in which I promise to help you with the household chores and some other little items. Do you mind if we set down some ground rules in writing before the marriage?” If the fiancée has half a brain, he or she will know what’s coming and possibly appreciate the tender approach. Maybe.
Fortunately, none of this is needed for the Olive-Vinnie marriage, and I’m glad I won’t have to step in the middle. One of these days someone will establish an agency that does nothing but counsel people who have been asked to sign prenuptial agreements. They can act like suicide prevention or other types of grief counselors, who know how to talk a person down and explain the reality of things.
Maybe I’ll suggest this idea to Stuart. I can just see his advertisement now: “Want your prospective spouse to sign a pre-nup? Call us! We’ll explain it to her or him, and you won’t have to bring up the subject at all.”
In Southern California, every wealthy female movie star can send her ‘boy-toy’ over for an explanation before purchasing the wedding vows. I’m sure that Donald Trump, Joan Collins, Cher, and Elizabeth Taylor, and many others would all liked to have had that service on their speeddials.
I hope that Olive and Vinnie succeed in this latest wedding attempt. Vinnie asks me for some suggestions as to where they should honeymoon, and the only two suggestions I have are either Maui, where I can arrange to have them as my guests for dinner at the Lahaina Yacht Club, or Petra, in Jordan.
Maui is a no-brainer. Several airlines fly directly from LAX here in Los Angeles to OGG, the Kahului Airport on Maui, just twenty-seven miles from Lahaina. It’s only about a five-hour flight, and with a good book and a couple of drinks, you’re there before you know it.
On the other hand, Petra is in the southern region of Jordan, and if you’re not really interested in ancient history, then it’s not for you. But if you do decide to go there, then you’ll never forget that mile-long walk through the ‘cold alley,’ a fifteen-foot wide path that the sun never shines into because of the surrounding four hundred foot high rock cliffs. At the end of this alley, which is really called the ‘Siq,’ you make one last turn and then right before your eyes is a sight you’ll never forget. Carved out of a solid rock face is the Khazneh, commonly referred to as the ‘Treasury,’ a ten-story high temple-looking edifice. If you’ve seen the motion picture ‘Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom,’ then you’ve seen the ‘Treasury,’ because it’s the building that Jones and his father run out of at the end of the movie.
I don’t think that Vinnie and Olive will choose Petra over Maui, so I don’t go into much more detail about the place, other than to mention that if they ever decide to go ahead with a pre-nuptial agreement, an ancient Priest King named Hammurabi started the whole subject with his own version of a property settlement. Of his 282 laws, the 137thstates that
“If a man wish to separate from a woman who has borne him children, or from his wife who has borne him children, then he shall give that wife her dowry, and a part of the usufruct [easement] of field, garden, and property, so that she can rear her children. When she has brought up her children, a portion of all that is given to the children, equal as that of one son, shall be given to her. She may then marry the man of her heart.”
As expected, Vinnie prefers Maui, so I call the club, buy the honeymooners a 15-day guest membership, and arrange for them to eat on my tab their first night on the Island.
The phone rings again, and this time my caller ID display shows a number with the La Verne area code. At first I think it might be Chief Olshansky calling about some new info on the Luskin murder, but I’m pleasantly surprised to find out that I’m wrong. It’s Beverly Luskin, and she sounds friendly.
“Hello, Mister Sharp? This is Beverly Luskin, you know, I’m the one from La Verne. You were at my house the other day.”
Is she kidding? Does a good-looking dame like that think that I could have possibly forgotten who she is in just a day? I hope she doesn’t think I’m gay, because I’d love to have the chance to prove her wrong on that one.
“Oh, no, Beverly, I haven’t forgotten you. To what do I owe the pleasure of this call? And please, call me Peter.” That’s a start. At least we’re on a first-name basis. I think that every love affair should start with people knowing and using each other’s first names.
“Peter, I want you to know that I appreciate what you did for me with the insurance claim, because I’ve been told that they’re now processing it. You must be a wonderful lawyer, and I’m going to need someone to help me with all the matters left behind by my husband’s passing. I was wondering if it would it be possible for me to retain you?”
Wow. What a combination. Brains, beauty, money, and wants me to help her. And to top it off, she thinks I actually did something for her already. Little does she know that Mister Uniman wanted me to try to find a way for him to wriggle out of paying off on her husband’s life insurance policy. I think that information should remain untold forever.
“Why certainly I’m available. Do you have any pressing needs now, or are you just looking for general counsel?”
“Nothing pressing at this moment, but there are quite a few things that will require attending to, so why don’t you send me a retainer agreement with your hourly rate and we can get started.”
This is easier than I thought it would be. No sense in making the rate too high, because spending time with this client will really be pleasurable and I don’t want to queer the deal by pricing myself out of the market, so I call up my standard retainer on the computer, fill in some blanks with her info, insert an hourly rate of onehundred dollars, which probably fits in with the going rate in her neck of the woods, and email the whole thing to her.
Less than an hour later, I get a dog-mail that says a confirming message has come in on the firm’s inbox, and that PayPal.com informed us that we have money waiting for us.
One of the internet’s most popular websites is a person-to-person auction site called eBay, where private parties buy and sell merchandise between each other. Because private parties don’t usually accept credit cards and people are understandably reluctant to give their credit card number out to a complete stranger, the PayPal service was created to facilitate payment between buyers and sellers. To use PayPal for sending money, all you do is go to the PayPal website, sig
n up by providing bank and credit card information, and then fill out a payment form authorizing payment of any sum you want. You give them the payee’s email address, and they do the rest.
PayPal notifies the payee that money is waiting. If you’re already signed up with PayPal, then it’s easy to have them either direct-deposit the sum to your bank account, or send you a check. If you’re not yet signed up with them, it’s an easy procedure.
I’m personally not signed up with PayPal, but guess who is? Right. Some time ago, the kid had our law firm signed up to receive money that way, so she has succeeded in glomming on to my retainer, and Beverly Luskin has just become a ‘house account.’ She did it to me again.
That’s the bad news. The good news is that Beverly sent an initial retainer of five grand, so she just bought fifty hours of my time, and I’m looking forward to it being the most enjoyable fifty hours of my career.
Jack B. is calling from Oregon and he sounds disappointed. He tried to interview some people up there, but can’t get any information out of anyone, especially the local cops. No crime report, no suspects, no details, no nothing. He gets the feeling that no one there wants to talk about this crime.
The only few facts he has are from the widow, Mrs. Kathy Potter. She told him that their marriage wasn’t going too well, and that occasionally her husband Paul would get drunk and slap her around. She wanted to leave him, but had nowhere to go. The story sounds like one that every Special Victims Unit cop has heard hundreds of times: “He’s really not that bad of a guy, it’s just that when he’s been drinking, he gets angry at little things. I still love him, and he always apologizes the next day and promises it’ll never happen again.”
Jack tells me that there were no kids in the marriage, so at this point neither one of us can figure out what kept her around that jerk. To make matters worse, it looks like he was involved in some drug dealing, which puts another few pieces of the puzzle together.
Conspiracy of Innocence Page 6
